


Vulcan

by zedpm



Series: disco aus [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eugenics Wars (Star Trek), Gen, Sehlats (Star Trek), Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Science Academy (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zedpm/pseuds/zedpm
Summary: Michael narrowly escaped the Eugenics wars. Fortunately, she landed on a certain desert planet.





	Vulcan

**Author's Note:**

> originally this was gonna be a series of aus but i lost my steam, y'all. i would love to love disco, but it's just still... not good. but i didn't want to take this down, so i'm leaving it up as a oneshot.

Warm light flooded the room. Its walls were earthen and brown-toned, and Michael looked around slowly. She was just beginning to sit up when a brown-skinned man wearing short white robes entered through a stone arch, standing above her bed and looking at her vitals readings.

“Where am I?” Michael asked, blinking stupidly.

The man looked down at her, his face blank. “You are in a medical facility on the planet Vulcan.”

She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing. “Vulcan?” she repeated. “You’re an alien?”

“Affirmative.”

“Who are you? How did I get here?”

The man pulled out a bag and adjusted the IV on her arm, which she hadn’t noticed; now it prickled. “I am Doctor Durak. Your ship was recovered two weeks ago, drifting in space near one of our moons. A mining ship brought you back to Vulcan.” She nodded encouragingly, and he continued in the same monotone. “It has been decided you will remain on Vulcan with a foster family.”

She smiled at Durak, and he stared at her, unblinking. “Thank you, Mister. That’s okay if I can’t go back to Earth. It’s scary there.” She shivered. “And my mommy and daddy are dead.”

“I grieve with thee,” Durak said, bowing his head.

Michael shrugged. She picked at the tape over the IV. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember them that much, except that my mommy loved calla lilies and my daddy had big eyes and a silly smile.”

Durak straightened back up and sat down at the end of her bed, just past her toes. “What does ‘silly’ mean?”

“Goofy,” Michael said.

“I do not know that word either.”

Michael crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, waggling her hands next to her ears. “Like this.”

“Humorous,” Durak supplied.

“Sure,” Michael said.

Durak looked at her for a long second. “You will not find humor on Vulcan,” he said. “Our species practices the suppression of emotion and the cultivation of logic, following the teachings of Surak, an ancient scholar.” He reached out and put his hand over her ankle, above the bedding. “You may find our ways difficult, as an emotional being. However, you seem to be intelligent. You will adapt.”

“I can’t have feelings?” Michael asked, her eyes wide. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You will always have feelings,” Durak said. “Only those who undergo the rites of _kolinahr_ truly purge all emotion. If you are to live in our society, however, you will find it advantageous to adhere to Surakian practices. Open displays of emotion are considered taboo, and the path you walk will be easier the more you fit in.” He looked her deep in the eyes. “Logic has its advantages, Michael. Rather than being a slave to your emotions, you will learn to name them and control them. When you feel grief or despair or rage, you will put them in a box in your mind and lock it, and they will not consume you.”

“What about joy?” Michael asked. “And love, and hope, and awe?”

Durak remained blank, and Michael shivered. “Nothing comes without sacrifice,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The couple they placed her with was older, two vulcan women who looked at her with eyes which could nearly be considered kind. They’d visited her in the hospital before the final decision, bringing her a strange pink fruit which tasted wonderful but had the consistency of damp sand.

“I am T’Rala,” the taller one said. She was pale-skinned, with long grey hair and wrinkles under her eyes. Both women sat on chairs next to Michael’s bed. “This is my wife, Salir.”

“Hello,” Michael said through a mouth full of fruit. “I’m Michael. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” T’Rala said. “We understand you are in need of a home.”

Michael nodded. “I work with troubled children,” Salir said, her voice soft and deep. She was shorter than her wife, her skin a shade darker, and had jet black hair cropped just above her shoulders. “Those who have difficulty in learning how to restrain their emotions, or undergo trauma which disrupts their lives.”

“So they want you to take me,” Michael said, looking down. “Because I’m trouble.”

“Negative,” T’Rala said. “We have wanted a child, but are unable to bear one. It is true that Salir has talents which make us uniquely suited to take you in, but it will not be the primary reason for our decision.”

“What would be?”

“You wanting to live with us,” Salir said. Michael looked up and at her. She had the kindest eyes of any vulcan Michael had met.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Okay.”

Two days later, they had taken her in. She adjusted to Vulcan life, slowly but surely. They hired a tutor to bring her up to speed in her education, a diminutive woman with black skin and a stern demeanor. She was delighted to learn—in the camp, there had been an education center, but little had been taught. Michael had read every book in the center’s library, but always felt she was behind, in some intangible way. She was allowed to roam her neighborhood, but avoided the other children, who had not yet learned to hide their curious and sometimes spiteful stares.

After the first six weeks she could keep her face blank most of the time; after four months she stopped hoarding food. After seven, she told Salir about the shiv she’d carved from a spoon, hidden in her robes at all times.

After the shiv confession was when she had come to trust her foster mothers completely. She sat on a cushion in the communal area, looking away and trying to tamp down her shame.

“I’m not in Mutt Camp anymore,” Michael said, handing the spoon to Salir with her eyes lowered. “Logically, I don’t need a weapon.”

“Not this one,” Salir said, examining the shiv. “Vulcans have far finer weapons than this.” Michael’s eyes widened. “I will sign you up for defense lessons, if you wish,” Salir continued. Michael could swear her eyes were twinkling. “You are weaker than the other children, and it may be frustrating for you. But I do not think that will stop you, will it?”

Michael shook her head and said, “Thank you, Salir, for your forgiveness, and for your consideration.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Salir said. “I am only gratified you trust me enough to share this.” She held up the shiv. Michael stood, excused herself, and went to her room, where she bit down on her pillow to hide a smile.

 

* * *

  

Michael grew up, as children do. When she was eighteen, she graduated from primary school, and filled out an application to the Vulcan Science Academy. She was well-trained enough by this point to lock away her worry and instead keep herself busy while she waited. She was dating a young botanist named Telo, a year older than her, and went with him to the southern continent to catalog flora. They came across a wild sehlat that adored Michael instantly, and she relented after four days of it following her, petting it on the head and resisting the urge to coo.

“What is its sex?” Telo asked, and Michael checked.

“Female,” she announced. “What should I name her?”

“She is to be bonded to you,” Telo said. “You must decide.”

“Vulcans meld with their bonded sehlats, right?” Michael asked. Telo nodded. “It is regrettable I cannot share that connection with her.” She rubbed the sehlat’s belly, and she rumbled happily.

Telo considered them. “I would be willing to serve as conduit, if you so desire,” he said. Michael looked at him. She and Telo had only melded twice, once when she’d nearly had a panic attack at school and once during sex.

“I accept,” Michael said. Telo approached, speaking the focus phrase quietly and holding his hand to Michael and the sehlat’s foreheads. Michael slipped from awareness, and felt a deep rumbling satisfaction like embers in her belly. She felt the sehlat recognize her, and her it, and they shared a moment of fierce, pure joy before the connection broke.

“She is yours now,” Telo said. “What is her name?”

“Yona,” Michael decided. They sat at the fire for a while, Yona plastered to Michael’s side and stealing bites of her stew. When she awoke, she had a communique from the VSA.

“They called me back for an interview,” Michael told Telo. “I have to return to Northern.”

Telo touched two fingers to hers briefly, and she pressed their foreheads together.  “I would bid you good luck, but you do not need it,” Telo said. “I will see you in two months when I return home.”

“Until then,” Michael said, holding up her hand in the ta’al. She walked the five miles to the nearest port with Yona by her side, and slept until she got home. Four days later, after considerable not-doting by her moms, she was bade to the VSA by a stout middle-aged man wearing the robes of a _kolinahr_ master.

She walked into the chamber, the arbiters looming above her like a council of gods. Michael stood straight with her hands behind her back, looking up but not making eye contact. She wanted to appear attentive, but not emotionally invested in the outcome. Tulok, who she’d met before, spoke.

“Michael Burnham. Daughter of T’Rala and Salir. Human. Your application has been reviewed by the board.”

She did not speak, but made eye contact with him. Tulok looked curious. “You are aware that only five percent of applicants reach the interview stage of admissions,” he said.

“Yes, Arbiter,” Michael said.

“Why do you think you were advanced?” he asked.

“One of three possible reasons,” Michael replied, speaking directly to Tulok. “Reason one: I am hardworking, creative, initiatory and intelligent. I excelled in both required and extracurricular education, and you believe I would be an asset to the vulcan pursuit of knowledge and clarity. Reason two is nepotism. You and Arbiter Sudiat both know my family, and my second mother Salir assisted Arbiter Sudiat with his daughter when she experienced emotional outbursts.” Tulok raised an eyebrow at this. “The third reason is that the board wanted to meet the human.”

“Reason one is correct,” Sudiat’s voice rumbled. “Despite your disadvantage, you were in the top tenth of the top one percent of all applicants. Thank you for your honesty, Miss Burnham. There is an oral examination prior to admittance, which we will administer now.”

They grilled her for three hours on science, mathematics, and logic, and Michael answered all but two questions correctly. For the two she didn’t know, she was forthright. “I do not know the answer,” she said, and they’d nodded and moved on. At the end, they informed her she was accepted, and told her to report for classes in a month’s time.

“Congratulations, Novitiate Burnham,” Sudiat said, a hint of smugness in his voice. She wondered what they’d thought of her, sifting through applications, as she walked home. Sudiat seemed to have wanted her to succeed.

She celebrated with her mothers that night. T’Rala made her favorite meal, and they sat in the communal space and talked, the room lit by a roaring fire. Salir made no attempt to disguise her pride, and T’Rala told the story again of how she and Salir had met, which Michael had heard dozens of times but still filled her with warmth. She cuddled into Yona’s side and listened, letting herself show the half-smile which was only for her mothers.

“It was a night like those the ancient poets wrote about. The air was crisp and clear, and when you watched the sky you could see every star. I was walking along the river, and sat at a rock to meditate when I saw her. I had known, of course, that I preferred women, broken my childhood betrothal long ago. But when I saw Salir, I reacted with the kind of emotion I had not felt since childhood. She was walking on the other side of the river, and I knew at once I was hers. She looked up and we met eyes, and then she started to walk away. I did, of course, the only logical thing, and followed her.”

“Very logical. You jumped in the river and yelled at me.”

“I may have raised my voice slightly. It was the logical thing to do.”

“Naturally.”

“I couldn’t just let you go, could I? So yes, I swam across the river and walked after her. She was looking at me like I was a wild beast. But I knew she was amused. So I stood, perfectly composed—”

“Dripping wet, gaping at me—”

“ _Perfectly composed,_  and she said—”

“‘May I help you?’”

“Michael, why do you insist on hearing this story when you know it by heart?”

“It’s more romantic when you tell it. Go on.”

“And I told her the story of _t’hy’la._ The words flowed out of me like water from a burst dam. Surak, our sage, came upon a woman from a warring tribe while hunting. They engaged in a fierce struggle, and as Vith reached for the killing blow, their minds touched. They ceased fighting at once, for they knew then they were destined for one another. They were _t’hy’la,_ that rarest and most ancient of bonds. And in the search for peace, Surak found logic inside him. By this point Salir had caught on, and she said—”

“‘Perhaps we should start with dinner.’”

“ _Michael._ So we had dinner, and when our minds touched for the first time, we knew we were t’hy’la. We married a week later.”

“And built our home,” Salir said softly. She and T’Rala shared a brief kiss. “We did not yet know we were waiting for you, our young novitiate. Our pride.”

Michael nodded. “I love you both very much,” she said, smiling helplessly. “I know I’m not supposed to say it, but—”

Salir reached out and hugged her. “We love you too,” she said. “Our secret.”

Michael looked at the doors of the Vulcan Science Academy, huge, towering, and ornately carved. The vulcans were so contradictory; logical yet traditional, emotionless yet prideful. Insular, xenophobic—but she was here. She didn’t know exactly when this strange race had stopped being them and started being us, but it had happened. She thought, for a moment, of Earth. All she remembered was a dark, damp cage, the smell of urine, and an endless field of calla lilies. Then she thought of Vulcan. Its vast deserts, its horizon shrouded by an eternal, untouchable mirage. Telo’s gentle touch. Her mothers, their strength and their kindness.

Michael centered herself, took a breath, and pushed open the door.


End file.
